


Found Poetry

by TaxicabKanefessions



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-08-12 02:01:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20163829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaxicabKanefessions/pseuds/TaxicabKanefessions
Summary: Uriel is the angel of art and poetry, but there's no place for that in Heaven. She's found, as other have, that the only place to truly express herself is down on Earth.





	1. Chapter 1

Heaven had been different before the fall. Some would argue better, Uriel would argue better, but it was best to keep quiet about that.  Back in those days there’d been color. There’d been laughter and music everywhere you went, and she soaked up all of it until she felt like she’d burst.

And then it all went away. 

You couldn’t say you were disappointed because that’d been the price of getting rid of Evil. Didn’t you  _ want  _ to get rid of Evil?

Even if you found someone who’d admit they were sad, it was never for a superficial reason like hating the stark-white silence. Or, even worse, a ludicrous reason like thinking that Heaven had lost its joy. It was always just a sadness that the others had been so blind and horrid that they needed to fall. Eventually, nobody brought it up at all.

A new Heaven took a new personality. Uriel had constructed a very good one, if she did say so herself. Unfortunately, though, she’d never managed to get rid of all of those pesky leftovers from old Heaven. The only way she’d found to do that, without fracturing her new self, was to head to Earth.

Uriel put herself into a chair in the furthest back table of a cafe. She ordered an espresso that she didn't plan to touch, then placed a leather bound (and half-empty) book in front of her.

She exchanged nods with the regulars who were excited to see her back but knew better than to try and engage in a conversation. This had become her favorite spot specifically because these humans learned quickly, which they seemed to realize.

And then it started.

Uriel closed her eyes and let the poetry flow over her like water. It filled the hole in her that she like to forget existed, and then threatened to drown her which was a dangerously tempting prospect.

She relieved the pressure by firmly pushing her fingers onto the leather cover. The empty pages inside began to fill up with words that glowed for a moment and then faded to black.

By the time she was called up to read, it was set.

Did Uriel have the words for it, she wouldn't have called herself a poet. That took a level of creativity angels just didn't possess… Not that the audience knew. Any time she read her own embarrassingly literal poetry, they assumed things like wings and chalices of blood were meant to be metaphorical. 

She would rather have considered herself a DJ, had she any idea what that was. She took bits of poetry, written by people whose identities and work were otherwise lost to time. She mixed them together and set them to the cadence of the modern style. With a bit of her own angelic influence thrown in for flavor, of course.

Through her words and presence, the emotions she refused to let herself show diffused over the crowd. They were transfixed in waves of frustration, of anger and confusion and overwhelming joy. They were filled with the screams she couldn’t let out and the songs that had gone silent before humans were even clay.

And, once she was spent, they applauded for it.

She nodded to them, once again feeling empty… No, like a proper part of the new Heaven. She quietly left the stage and, book gripped tightly in the fist at her side, headed for the door.

These humans knew from experience that Uriel didn’t discuss her poetry, or anything else for that matter. She’d just leave stiffly and silently. And next week, some would swear she’d just materialize in her chair at the back of the cafe because nobody ever saw her enter. Not that any of it was questioned, of course. It was expected for a poet of that caliber to be at least a bit eccentric. 

This time, unseen by the audience that had become absorbed in the unfortunate poet trying to follow her, Uriel didn’t leave. She instead froze by the counter.

Aziraphale, who’d come to find books to collect while they were still first editions (and maybe a sweet roll), froze as well.

They sized one another up for a long while before Uriel put a single finger to her lips.

Aziraphale nodded eagerly, and flinched away as the archangel strode past him and out of the cafe.

He caught his breath and, despite himself, wondered if there was any way to get his hands on that book. If not that one, any one of the mountains of similar books he was sure Uriel kept hidden in her office. It would surely be the crown jewel of his collection. Maybe if he invited her to the shop, and let her read the poetry books he’d gathered through the centuries, she would be willing to trade...

He brushed that aside as far too suicidal. But possessing someone to more safely come listen again, well… that was an idea.


	2. Chapter 2

Uriel materialized back in her office. It was bare, as all angel’s offices were. They didn’t need any material things outside of a desk to work at and the floor-to-ceiling windows which provided all decoration any of them could ever want. At least, that was the mantra.

Her office, back in the day, had been… She stopped. It was best not to think about that, especially with the next slam so far away. It would be rather inconvenient.

Instead, she turned her back to the door (just in case) and flipped through the book. There was room for two more poems… Maybe. If the next one was long, which it might be with all the stress of the post not-war, it could take up enough space that-

“Uriel?”

She jumped and spun around. Just as quickly, she hid the book behind her back. “Yes, Michael?”

Michael raised his eyebrows a bit. “Rather jumpy this evening.”

“Sword training makes me a bit tense.”

“And that’s why you haven’t been in your office?” he pressed. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Yes, exactly,” Uriel said, relieved to have an excuse to cling to. And one that wasn’t exactly a lie, since she’d done sword training that morning. As she did every morning, really, but there was no need to split hairs.

Michael nodded and went on. “I’m still waiting on the paperwork from yesterday’s reassignment meeting.”

“Yes, I have it right here.” She miracled the book into its hiding place and went to grab the files off her desk.

Uriel offered it with the tips of her fingers and straight arms, a clear (she hoped) signal that she wanted to be left alone. “Is there anything else?”

Michael caught that, but it also seemed he’d caught something else. Which was very bad, since it was never good to be the subject of one of Michael’s investigations. But, for now, he was content to just take the files.

“No, that’s all for now. I’ll leave you to your… work.”

He turned on his heel and walked out. Uriel only relaxed once the door clicked shut behind him.

* * *

The best part of collecting books was the hunt. That was followed by the best part of reading words that nobody else could, or thought anyone else would again. And then came the absolute best part of displaying them in stacks that his customers bafflingly believed were for sale.

Now he knew of a book that would be one-of-a-kind on Earth. He knew exactly where it was, who had it, and a decent idea what it’d cost.

Inaccessible, unfathomably dangerous, and far too much.

There were a million other books that were on his wish list. Those ones were actually possible to acquire, and safe to display afterwards.

Still…

Aziraphale’s pencil tapped rapidly at the desk. He turned to the community listings to find when the next poetry slam would be.

“Crowley,” he said, a bit louder to be heard from the office.

“Yeah?” Crowley called back, significantly louder than necessary to be heard from the shop.

“Can I ask you an, er… a demon question?”

There was a long pause where Crowley weighed the tone before he answered, “Within reason…”

“Say someone wanted to pick a body to possess… a specific body. How would they go about finding it?”

Crowley appeared in the doorway, his good judgement clearly overwhelmed by his curiosity. “What kind of human would this someone be looking for?”

“A poet, one that’s a regular at a specific event.”

“And when would this need to happen?”

“I, er,  _ someone  _ might need to be able to walk into the building with the person already possessed.”

“Well,” Crowley said as he gestured with the spray bottle for the shop plants. “There are two ways to go about it. You can spring on them in the parking lot, but that can draw attention. Big mess if it’s crowded. The better, safer way,” He winked and smirked, “Would be to own a bookshop full of poetry for sale.”

Aziraphale’s face fell, more at the idea of a sale than the trap, “So your advice is to sit like a spider in a web?”

“You did want to know a demon answer, angel.”

* * *

It had been a bad week. Even months out, tensions were still palpable and angels demanded an end-goal even if one wasn’t forthcoming. Michael suspected something, and while it was a saving grace that he didn’t have an idea of what yet that also meant he was going to search everything until he found something satisfying.

At least Uriel knew how to get around the Earth Observation Team. It couldn’t record in buildings, and took a good five minutes outside of them to lock onto an angelic aura. So as long as she was gone in that time, she was fine. But with Michael digging so hard, it was probably best not to even risk that much.

Uriel had managed to slip out of Heaven unseen, though and had never been so relieved to materialize into the chair of the cafe. She placed the book in its usual spot, and raised her finger for her normal order from the barista.

She was hopeful and….

And the room was hopeful.

There was love there too. Real love, the sort a human would never be able to produce. And yet, it was far too muted for an angel. 

Someone was hiding.

She looked critically at everyone around her. They were all regulars, and all historically human. A demon could have possessed one, but they couldn’t produce that kind of love. So maybe an angel changed their size but…

The safest thing to do would have been to leave.

But Uriel knew that she couldn't do that. She would return to heaven full up and something would slip out.

Maybe just create, then? There was no rule that everyone had to read every week. Though, somehow she knew that the words wouldn't have the same cathartic power if they weren't said aloud.

The poetry began, and against her will she steadily filled up with passion. If she didn't get it out, she was bound to explode.

She was caught, and whoever this love came from had to know it. They wanted a show and, barring any better options, Uriel decided to give it to them.

She jammed her fingers down on the book and let the words burn into the pages. And when she stood up and took the mic, they spewed out in a frustrated, furious tirade at the invasion of her sanctuary and a direct threat to anything that might follow.

She was properly empty at the end, and she hurried off the stage before (hopefully) whoever was there realized she had none of that rage left.

She hurried for the door, even more quickly than usual, and ducked outside. The sooner she was back in her office, and the book was hidden with all the others, the safer she'd be. But she needed an alley to get there if she ever wanted to come back..

* * *

Crowley’s plan had worked perfectly. That shouldn't have been a surprise despite the hastily (and poorly) announced sale was shockingly well attended. People had found the ad, buried deep within the paper with the address spelled incorrectly, and almost by demonic miracle all had the time and willingness to attend.

He’d chosen a man who’d sat at a table on the opposite side of the room, and it seemed to have worked. Uriel looked over the everyone, but passed over his vessel more than once.

She swept her eyes over the crowd as she read off a thinly veiled threat, and still never quite settled on Aziraphale. 

And he should have been grateful. She was an enforcer who specialized in other angels. She was paranoid and angry, and she had no clue where or who he was. And rather than sniff him out, she seemed eager to run away. He should have just let her go. But…

It’d been… amazing. Her poetry was vibrant, passionate, so many things he’d never seen (or, frankly, expected to see) out of an archangel. 

And there was still that book. Now it had freshly-singed finger marks which made it even more valuable. That overrode his self-preservation, and he rushed after her.

"E-excuse me!"

Uriel stopped and turned. Her eyes were suspicious but notably dull. "What."

"I well… I was wondering if you had a poetry compilation… or if any of those are up for sale?" He motioned to the leather book in her hands.

She gripped it more tightly and peered at his face where she saw… something. Aziraphale had never actually seen a possessed body before, so he wasn’t sure what. But something there that made her turn and flee into the alley behind the coffee shop.

There was a flash of light, and then nothing.

“What… what on Earth was that?” The vessel asked. 

“Nothing on Earth,” Aziraphale said, glumly. “Come on, let’s get you back home.”


	3. Chapter 3

Those had been angel eyes, there was no question about that. But, at the same time, she’d scanned that body dozens of times over the various slams, and more than a few times that evening. It was unquestionably human. It had a heart that beat, lungs that took air in and out, and a gut that churned. Just, now, it also had ethereal eyes.

That could only mean a possession. But that didn’t make any sense because angels couldn’t do that. An angel would have to be behaving like a demon, maybe even were a touch demonic themselves. And the only one who would even dream of such a thing was…

Uriel put her head down on her desk and groaned. Of course it was Aziraphale.

On one hand, that was a very good thing because he would definitely not be working for or with Michael. On the other hand was absolutely everything else about this situation. 

Aziraphale had made himself into a monster, and now he was after… her poetry book? That also didn't make any sense. What would he possibly do it it? Just to throw it on the pile of other books that he evidently had? 

There had to be something nefarious going on that she just hadn't figured out yet. And Uriel was completely alone on this because if she even hinted that she needed backup, she'd be caught. 

There was no way he didn't know that.

She tried to rub the concern and headache out of her eyes as she hid the book. Once it was safely undetectable, she made her way to the training area for a few extra hours of practice. He’d had a sword (at one point, anyway), and to be on the safe side Uriel had to assume that he was excellent with it.

* * *

“So how did it go?” Crowley asked as soon as the door opened. 

“Well…” Aziraphale began as he slipped his coat off. “The possession went off without a hitch. So that was very good."

"What about the part where you possessed him for a reason?"

"Well…" he trailed off and focused quite firmly on the process of hanging the coat in the closet.

Crowley smirked and poured him a glass of wine. "You get in another poetry fight?"

"The man is a drunken hack," Aziraphale said, sharply. “That we have to listen to every insipid opinion he has because he wrote a _ single _good poem, which is debatable-!”

"Is just awful,” Crowley said, agreeably, to silence the rant he’d heard at least a dozen times at that point. "So it's over?"

"No, unfortunately, I don't think it is.” Aziraphale settled down and took the glass of wine. "I'm not doing another sale, though."

"Well, back to the drawing board then, yeah?"

"We'll see what happens." He took a long swig.

* * *

God had not made any angel without purpose and love. Michael had been created to be a protector of the sanctity of heaven that She knew would come under threat. It would happen more than once, even if those threats were thousands of years apart.

Michael was a timeless being and certainly hadn’t been disappointed when he'd found out how long the downtime would be. There was an administrative role to take along with the other archangels and it certainly didn’t feel like being an attack dog on a short leash. That would be ungrateful.

In the same vein he wasn't ungrateful when Gabriel was promoted over him because he was deemed too militaristic for the bureaucracy that Heaven had become. And he certainly wasn’t upset the second war never came. All of it was Her will, and Michael was forever loyal to Her, so he accepted it as very good.

He had plenty to keep busy with. Heaven was meant to be regulated and efficient, and if he didn’t keep an eye on it they risked another fall. There was always a new issue to sort out, and he had made almost a game out of figuring out new ways to take care of them.

The current concern was Uriel, who had been an exceedingly loyal and pious angel up until recently.

There’d always been a schedule, now that Michael thought about it, where her work was late or she couldn't be accounted for. But previously it'd been rare, and never really affected productivity. Since the apocalypse had been averted, these episodes had become more frequent. 

Michael had seen this sort of behavior before in angels who doubted. It wasn’t that she’d stopped loving God, Michael knew, but then again neither had many who were now sat in Hell...

It couldn't happen again, especially not to another Archangel. As Michael had a million times over the millennia, he decided he needed to change tactics.

* * *

Uriel flipped through a rack of sweaters at a boutique absently, and far more critically watched the bookshop across the street. She forgot the sweaters entirely when a Bentley parked out front. A familiar figure stepped out and, without even a casual look around, sauntered into the shop.

So the boyfriends were still together. It wasn’t a surprise, necessarily, but it certainly wasn’t a comfort either. She’d heard about what happened in Hell.

They would need to be separated before she could approach, and-

“Ma’am?”

Her head whipped around, and the saleswoman shrunk back from the intensity of the look. Uriel did what she could to soften it, but she wasn’t in much mood to concede to a human.

“Did you need any help?”

“No.” Uriel grabbed a few sweaters off the rack. They were all different sizes, but that would hardly matter if she believed they would all fit. “I’ll take these.”

The saleswoman awkwardly took the load shoved in her arms. “Of course... anything else?”

Uriel looked her over to confirm there was nothing even slightly non-human about her before she asked, “When does the Bentley leave?”


	4. Chapter 4

Combat training had not stopped with the cancellation of the war. It stayed exactly as it had been for thousands of years, to maintain normalcy and preparation just in case everything started up again. As disobedience was a rarity among angels, overseeing this training had been Uriel’s regular job for thousands of years.

It was also one that was subject to very regular oversight.

"Uriel!"

She turned to the open arms of Gabriel, and forced herself to relax into a militarily-straight posture instead. “Gabriel, Sandalphon.” Her voice tightened slightly as she added, “Michael. To what do we owe the honor?”

Sandalphon caught the change in tone, and they glanced at Michael from the corner of their eye. Michael put on his professional smile and Gabriel, who’d caught none of this, beamed as normal.

“Michael had pointed out how long it’s been since we observed your progress. And since we had a free period between meetings this is a perfect time!”

“Is there an issue with us coming?” Michael asked, brows raised just so.

“Of course not,” Uriel said, quickly. “I just wish I could have escorted you properly.” She turned back to the angels under her command and announced a maneuver to perform.

Sandalphon and Gabriel watched the soldiers as they normally did, but Michael never took his eyes off Uriel. She never looked back, but she could feel his gaze boring into her. 

How close was he? It had to be significantly more than before if he was ready to bring the others along. But maybe the investigation had stalled or failed, and he was just trying to bluff?

Uriel hated not knowing. And it killed her that she couldn’t check her phone which was locked on the bookshop's observation feed. It was set to ding as soon as the car left, but being able to watch it made her feel better. There was no chance with the others there, though.

As was proper for someone trying to get away with something, the phone chimed minutes before the demonstration was set to end.

Uriel clapped her hands and called, "That's enough for today." She turned to the other Archangels. "With the war potentially restarting any day now, we can't risk over-use injuries."

“Well, it was a wonderful display! Excellent work.” Gabriel told her with a large smile and a round of applause that the other archangels joined out of obligation.

Uriel nodded to them. “Thank you. If you’ll excuse me.”

She moved around them and hurried back to her office. Only after the door was closed did she pull her phone out to check.

The Bentley had just pulled away from the shop, and was still visible down the road.

She tucked the phone back into her pocket, took a breath, and headed down to Earth.

It was only a few minutes before Michael also headed into the office and, upon finding it empty, headed for the globe to follow her down.

* * *

Aziraphale hummed to himself as he took a customer (though, far more specifically, Crowley)-free moment to dust the front of the shop. It was amazing how much it accumulated on these old books. Depending on the age, it might not take terribly much to damage them so it had to be attended to.

He kept his back turned when the door chime rang out. He gave a half-hearted ‘welcome’ because it’d be rude to say nothing at all, but he paused long enough to make sure they knew he didn't mean it.

“Aziraphale.”

He practically dropped the duster as he spun around quickly. The last thing anyone should do was have their back to an Archangel.

“Uriel…! What a pleasant surprise.” He took a few steps backwards.

She took a few steps forward, though she kept a notable distance between them. A gilded scabbard hung at her side, and her hand rested on the hilt.

An Angel’s sword could be summoned at a whim, anywhere and everywhere, and certainly didn’t need something as crude as a scabbard. They both knew this, which was entirely the point.

“I know it was you,” She said, voice as cold as the expression on her face.

"I can't even begin to imagine what you mean!" He laughed nervously. Aziraphale edged towards the back room, though he was sure trying to run would make an already bad situation worse.

"You've been following me like a demon," she said with a step forward that confirmed his fears. "And trying to take my book. What are you up to?”

“Well, then this is an easy fix!” Aziraphale said with his hands up and the largest smile he could manage. “I don’t want the book!”

She grabbed the hilt of her sword harder, “So you were just trying to scare me?”

“Wh- No! No! I… I did _ want _ the book before. I collect them.” He motioned around the room. “You see? I wasn’t trying to do anything nefarious! I just thought a simple transaction-”

“A what?”

He held up his hands, “Its not bad, it's just an exchange. I give you something, and get the book in return. Simple. I wouldn’t hurt it, or tell anyone, it’d just stay here.”

As Uriel looked around the room, her face slowly moved from anger to confusion. “Why do you do this?”

“Because, well… Because I like reading them and caring for them… And your poetry was wonderful.”

She hesitated, then admitted softly. “It’s not _ mine _.”

“There’s a kind of poetry that takes bits of other works and puts them together,” he explained. “It’s the arrangement that gives it meaning. And your choices, well… I honestly never thought I would hear from Bartholemew of York ever again, but I loved it.”

“I… I didn’t think anyone knew his poetry,” She said. Her voice was tinged with more eagerness than she’d hoped. “His work burned and he… well, he wasn’t the sort who ended up on Heaven’s list.”

“Womanizing, thieving alcoholics don’t tend to, no,” Aziraphale agreed. “But he had an amazing voice.”

“He did.” She looked around the room of books. "I suppose that…"

The door chimed again, and they both turned to look.

Crowley stood in the doorway. One arm held the takeout bags, and the other hand gripped on the door until his knuckles turned white.

"Oh…" Aziraphale's smile twitched nervously. "Crowley, this is Uriel. Uriel… I'm sure you remember Crowley."


	5. Chapter 5

The clerk at the boutique decided that she was either in a spy movie, or she'd had a bout of particularly bad luck with customers that day. Quite possibly both.

This was the second customer of the day that she hadn’t seen enter, and then pretended to look at items for a long time while they focused on the bookshop. They’d both glared down the ever-present Bentley, and shoved a credit card and seemingly randomly selected merchandise at her when checked on.

But it wasn’t really the clerk’s place to ask so she just hoped for more normal customers for the rest of the day.

* * *

“You have a lot of nerve coming back down here,” Crowley said. It was an admirable stab at civility, he thought, to only have his voice drip with venom.

“I have business, demon,” She said, her tone equally dangerous. It almost, but not quite, covered up how she shook ever so slightly now that she was surrounded by them. “And I will-”

“You’re leaving. Now,” Crowley would have dropped the bags, would that not have upset Aziraphale, as he took a few steps closer.

Uriel’s feet slid into stance and she just as quickly began to get the sword from it scabbard.

“No! No, no!”

The sudden, and incredibly loud, intrusion made them forget each other for a moment and look over.

“I know which sword you brought,” Aziraphle said. His voice shook, but his eyes held firm as he held up a disciplinary finger. “I probably would have brought the same one. But we’re standing in a matchbox right n- a matchbox holds things designed to light on fire _ very easily _ . If you pull that out, we’ll all discorporate horribly and then you’ll have to explain what you were doing when you lost your body. And exactly _ why _you were here to do it.”

Uriel didn’t hide her anger that Aziraphale had ordered her around, but also couldn’t deny he probably knew more about this than she did. The sword clicked back into place.

“Good, very good. Now, let’s just-”

“Just nothing,” Crowley snapped. “She’s leaving or I’m making an example of her.”

Uriel had no reason to think this was a bluff, with how enraged Crowley was at the invasion and how seriously Hell had taken his threat before. She gave a quick glare to Aziraphale, one to Crowley, and a momentary glance out the window, and then ascended in a flash of light.

And that was a good thing, of course. The bookshop remained untouched and unburned. Aziraphale was still going to have a fight of course. Crowley had launched into a tirade even before the light had faded. The food would also be ice cold when (and if) he could talk Crowley back down. But, at least, the books were safe.

* * *

It was gauche, these days, to bring real color into Heaven. But, if one were creative with placement and explanation, a properly-placed aquamarine or a well-selected opal could really pop without being a scandal.

The boutique had a wonderful selection of cufflinks with stone settings which would normally have kept Michael’s interest. And they had, for a while. More than he would have liked, actually, considering he was there for a very different reason.

But then the Bentley showed up.

Heaven didn’t make stupid or impulsive angels into enforcers. Considering they were being sent into already dangerous situations, the last thing you wanted was someone who’d make things worse. Uriel had been an unconventional but worthy choice. Up until that point, she'd never given them any reason to question her judgement.

So if she were to walk into an obvious trap, it stood to reason that she’d known exactly what she was doing and had planned accordingly. But it also stood to reason that the opposition could ambush or trick or a million other things that demons had made into an art. And, in that case, even the most skilled angel would need backup.

And Michael was the only one around who could do that. But to jump in would be to admit that he was there at all, and it wouldn’t be believed that it was a coincidence. 

And that was a stupid, selfish idea.

Michael headed for the door.

“Uh, ma’am?”

He turned with a withering glare, and the clerk shrunk back. 

“Your cufflinks? Your credit card?” She offered the bag hesitantly.

Michael snatched it and stormed out. He strode across the street as he pulled for his sword with his free hand.

When he saw a familiar flash, and confirmed it'd been who he'd hoped it would be, Michael didn’t even bother to look for a place to be discreet. He abandoned the sword to ascend back to Heaven. 

He dropped the bag and immediately began to look her over.

Uriel put a hand on one of his. “I’m alright.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Thank you for charging in.”

“Anytime.” He picked up his bag. “Shall we?”

Uriel couldn’t really say no after everything, so she followed him to his office.

* * *

After yelling, explanations, and some more yelling because Crowley had found more to be mad about, the two ate their cold food in silence. It wasn’t that there wasn’t plenty to say, but more that Aziraphale looked a very particular type of sad and Crowley was not in the mood.

Of course, whether or not he wanted to deal with it, he knew it was coming.

“She knows her poetry, you know.”

“How wonderful.”

“I mean she really knows it, as only an angel can. I didn't think any of them did.” He gave a bit of a pout. “Would you…?”

“I don’t read,” Crowley said flatly, and shoveled a large bite into his mouth to end the conversation.

Aziraphale sighed, tragically. “I know…”

They left the bookshop not much later. Aziraphale locked the front door, and waved to the clerk from the boutique across the road who was likewise locking up.

She pulled her hood down, protectively, and scurried off.

“What’s that about, you think?” Aziraphale asked.

"No idea,” Crowley said as he slid into the Bentley. “Let’s get going before someone else comes to sign up for poetry club.”


	6. Chapter 6

Visually, Michael’s office was identical to every other angel’s to help to avoid pride. It felt considerably larger and more foreboding than that, if you were on the wrong side of his desk, but that wasn’t because of anything he’d specifically done. Or anything he’d admit to, anyway.

Michael placed the bag on the desk. "You’re full of surprises, Uriel. Who knew you could expertly avoid the EOT?"

"They've always been inefficient," Uriel explained.

"Yes, but you'd be shocked how few angels can manage to handle even generous gaps in surveillance. So when there's someone who can, we have to worry."

"We?"

"We only if it has to be," Michael corrected. He looked over his purchases with what appeared to be a casual smile. "I'd rather keep this small if it can be. Right now, all we have is the late paperwork lining up with undocumented weekly disappearances. That can be cleared up with a few forms. But with Aziraphale in the picture…”

"He’s not in the picture, he was spying," Uriel said, insistently. "I was taking care of it."

Michael glanced up from an opal cufflink, brows raised. "Spying on what?"

Were she a demon or a lesser angel, she might have considered lying. But Uriel most certainly was not.

“I’ve been keeping up with poetry. And art, when I can. Categorizing and inspiring them was my original purpose," she explained. After a very quick beat, she added, "I understand things have changed, and I have a different purpose for Heaven. My original task has been… difficult to shake."

His jaw tightened just a touch, and he moved onto a different pair. “We’ve all been given struggles. We just have to make sure they don’t get in the way our current responsibilities, or attract… unwanted attention.”

“Of course.”

Forms appeared in Michael’s hand as he moved to pass them over. “You’ll need to report your movements from here on, and submit detailed logs of your efforts to promote these things. Of course there will be oversight, so I will assign…”

“I’d rather have this kept private, if possible.”

Michael’s head tilted just so, which made Uriel stiffen and regret saying anything.

“I didn’t mean-”

"Since when do duties meant to glorify God need to be kept secret from other angels?"

They both knew the answer, and that Uriel couldn't bring herself to admit that this had nothing to do with angels, Heaven, or even God. 

She could only take the paperwork from Michael. “I’ll have this in order as soon as possible.”

“Wonderful.”

Uriel headed out, and Michael looked over cufflinks he must have grabbed in his haste. The stones had nearly a dozen colors, perfectly aligned but so incredibly bright and garish he couldn’t imagine actually using them.

His nail tapped at the desk as he turned them over and over. Then he undid the links he was wearing and changed them out.

At least, it wouldn’t be too bad to wear them in the privacy of his office. Or down on Earth, seeing as they had loose standards and he had an awful lot left to figure out.

* * *

According to Aziraphale's borrowed vessel, being possessed was amazing for creativity. The man had volunteered to be possessed again for next slam, which would have been rude to refuse. 

That’s how he explained it to Crowley, anyway, who had refused to.stop giving him that look.

It was much more comfortable, this time, as he sat down with his tea and sweet roll. Not to say that he necessarily felt safe, seeing as she had come down with a sword the last time. But it certainly was easier to know they’d both know what was going on rather than hoping she never figured it out.

He was the only one who noticed Uriel materialize at the back table. With his friendliest smile, Aziraphale raised his teacup to acknowledge her. 

Uriel looked him over critically, and darted her eyes to the empty chair next to her. Before either of them could make another move, it was filled by an angel.

Different Heavenly roles tended to produce different, distinct traits. The one beside her, then, was prim in the sort of way that only was found in the record keepers. 

It was at that point that Aziraphale noticed that she'd brought two books. Both considerably different than the one he'd seen before. The first turned out to be a catalog that collected poetry as it was read once she laid a gentle hand on it. It glowed, certainly, but not as the last one had. Nor did there seem to be sense of relief, or the wave of emotion, as she got up and read what was absolutely someone else's poetry out of the second book. If anything, she looked and sounded rather constipated.

At the end, aimed with the slightest turn of the head to Aziraphale’s side of the room, she coughed and added, “Keep going, the arrow is still in front of you” as the only change to the original text.

The audience clapped in an acknowledgement that everyone had an off night. The record keeper clapped enthusiastically because that was the proper thing to do for a successful mission. Immediately after, the two angels headed out and doubtlessly ascended in the nearby alley.

Aziraphale just sat.

He’d heard that poem before, though clearly none of the humans had. He couldn't remember the poet's name, but he remembered her story. A poor thing lost to an abusive household that had done away with her poetry about confinement and escape. She was quite comfortable in Heaven, now, without that family if he remembered correctly.

But the line at the end… That was the bigger issue that he’d have to figure out later. It was time to return this body.

* * *

“What are you doing?”

Aziraphale grabbed another book. A bible this time, seeing as his prophecy books had done him no good. “Bibliomancy.”

“If you do it right, it’s going to tell you that I was right and you shouldn’t keep doing this.”

Aziraphale frowned as he read. “Basically, yes.” He took off his glasses. “She’s quoting the story of Jonathan and David.” When Crowley motioned to elaborate, he added, “She’s telling me that this is dangerous and I should run.”

“Ah, so an archangel with some sense? Who’d have thought?” Crowley smirked as he put the spray bottle away. “So you’re going to listen, I hope.”

“Well…”

“No ‘well’,” Crowley interjected, flatly. “‘Well’ is how you get yourself in trouble.” 

“I know, I know.” He closed the bible and filed it away. “I just don’t think I’ll ever find someone else with that level of poetry knowledge… It’s a hard thing to lose”

“This is the worst idea you’ve ever come up with,” Crowley said.

“It’s not even close to what the two of us have done over the years, and you know it.”

He hated to admit Aziraphale was right about that, so he just huffed, “That doesn’t mean you should try for a new record!” while he returned to his plants.

* * *

The font on the paperwork was ridiculously small. Uriel normally didn’t put any thought into it, that’s just how paperwork was. But now, with her head in a fog and her eyes no better, she couldn’t make any sense of it.

It’d been centuries since she’d come back to Heaven full-up, and never quite this badly. It must have been the added stress of being watched that had done it. Having an explanation didn’t do anything to make her feel better.   
If she didn’t figure something out…

The phone in her pocket buzzed.

Uriel rubbed her eyes and read. And, slightly and slowly, she felt the pressure recede. 


End file.
